The barracks is nothing more than a cement brick shell. The few tables and chairs that were in the room have all been pushed aside, stacked up perilously against the walls to make room in the center of the room. To make room for more than half a dozen teenage transgenics piled in a heap, seemingly for no reason at all. In the doorway, ever present, Lydecker stands with his arms crossed, next to a guard who is laughing uproariously in the middle of scattered explanations.
"There's nothing in the rules that says they can't all play at once," comes the explanation from the guard holding, of all things, the spinner to the game of Twister. "Right hand on red."
All together, the pile of bodies shifts. One of the girls seems to stumble as she shifts, falling in near slow motion onto a handful of boys beneath her who groan dramatically. This starts a domino effect, another boy falling with a yelp and comical windmilling of his arms like he'll be able to save himself.
"They've been at this for hours," the guard who'd been designated spinner tells Lydecker.
"The same game? That's more stamina then they show during half their drills."
Any answer is cut off by the gleeful whooping of the apparent winner, balanced delicately in a one handed handstand -- her right hand on red. "I win!"
Lydecker seems pleased, smirking as he mutters "Not quite," under his breath. As the guards watch, a thin arm reaches out from the pile and gently pushes the "winner" over with her left hand. When the girl is piled on the floor and her right hand is quite far from red, a blonde head pokes up from the pile, ponytail slipping over her shoulder as she glances up at the Colonel with wide, expectant green eyes.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
» helen